The Rest of Their Lives
by Novaskyr
Summary: Events occurring after the world did not end, with two immortal beings trying to work out what on Earth they are meant to do now. Rated M 'cause I don't know where this will end up going... and I know I'd forget to change the rating if it needed it.
1. Chapter 1: The Proposition

**AN: this is the first fanfic I've written for a very long time. It's also my first ever attempt at portraying any real kind of romance. ****Will there be a second chapter? Maybe. Depends on whether I can write it to a level that I'm happy with. ****Constructive criticism is welcomed and will likely be acted upon. So all that's left to say is that the characters and universe they are within belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, and I hope you enjoy this bit of headcanon as much as I have enjoyed thinking about it.**

**The rest of their lives.**

Crowley was driving his Bentley, Bohemian Rhapsody playing almost loud enough to drown out the doubts in his head, a wicker basket on the back seats. Unlike the last time that this had happened, however, it was not yet dark. When he finally reached Aziraphale's bookshop, he remembered that he wasn't supposed to park there and let out a frustrated snarl. It was a problem that he'd never had before. One among many.

The taxi he'd called was waiting as he pulled up outside his apartment. He was so annoyed that he nearly slammed the Bentley's door. Not quite so annoyed that he forgot the basket though. It had taken him the best part of the day to sort it out and there was no way he was going anywhere without it.

"A.Z. Fell's bookstore," he told the driver, who simply nodded, having had the job for long enough to recognise when a punter didn't want conversation.

Having nothing to do while he was driven _back_ to the bookshop was torture. At least when he'd been driving he'd had something else to concentrate on. Now there was no distraction from the unending commentary of thoughts in his head, despite the fact that he was as prepared as he was ever going to get.

Though he would never have admitted it, which was partly attributing to his foul mood, Anthony J. Crowley was worried.

It was a journey that had been both far too long and far too fast when the taxi pulled up outside of the shop. Crowley got out of the car, reaching back for the basket. With a slight cough, the driver reminded him of his fare.

Out of reflex, Crowley brought his hand up to miracle himself some money. Then he remembered, and sullenly pulled a snakeskin wallet out of his back pocket, removing several crisp notes.

"Is this enough?" He asked coolly, not bothering to check.

"Sure seems to be," the driver gulped and drove off quickly, having been overpaid.

Crowley stood for a little while, looking at the outside of the building. Then, putting on his usual carefree swaggering demeanour, he walked in.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale looked happy to see him, which always made him feel just a little more grounded, "I wasn't expecting to see you today!" Then he noticed the wicker basket and paled.

"Don't look so worried, Angel," Crowley told him as he walked past and headed to the back room, "you'll like what's in here. Shut up shop while I get it set up."

"I can't just _close_," Aziraphale protested, "I'm _working_."

"Never stopped you before," Crowley told him then shut the door behind himself. He didn't need to listen to see if Aziraphale would close up. He didn't have time.

Once, not that long ago, Aziraphale had mentioned two things: dining at the Ritz (which they'd done) and going for a picnic. They were both pretty certain that they had a bit of breathing room from the Powers Above and Below, for now, but nonetheless, neither wanted to draw Their attentions and a picnic in the park was pretty in-your-face. So Crowley had decided to bring a picnic to Aziraphale. Eventually. After a great deal of persuading himself that it was acceptable to make a friend food. And several attempts that had ended up thrown from his apartment because he changed his mind, or wasn't happy about what he had made.

Crowley had just finished setting up and was trying to find ambient park noises on an app on his phone when he heard a gasp.

Aziraphale was stood in the doorway, his hands at his mouth at the sight of a blue and white checked blanket spread onto the floor of the back room, complete with plates of ham sandwiches and cheese sandwiches, perfectly cut into congruent triangles, and a half-dozen of cupcakes with almost perfect icing (Crowley was still not happy with those. They had simply refused point blank to look how he wanted them to, though seeing Aziraphale's reaction, he couldn't help but feel a little bit warmer towards the things, begrudgingly).

"Crowley…" The angel breathed, an endearing expression of awe on his face. It was an expression Crowley knew well, and one he secretly loved to elicit, "How…? Where?"

Crowley shrugged, "Made it myself," sauntering over to a space and flopping down into it, the very vision of nonchalance.

Aziraphale's eyes got even wider, "You made all this?"

"Don't go on about it, Angel, it wasn't that hard," Crowley waved at hand at his friend, "just sit down and enjoy it."

Aziraphale did so, but refused to pick up any of the food, despite his glances at it, "Crowley, we said we weren't going to do any miracles for a while, not even small ones!"

Clearly, the angel wasn't going to eat while he was worrying about this, so Crowley sighed, "I didn't use a miracle, I used money."

"And where did you get money from?" Aziraphale demanded, a frown wrinkling up his forehead.

"What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?" Crowley joked. Aziraphale clearly didn't think he was being funny though.

"Crowley!" His voice was sharp and cross, which meant Aziraphale was worried. And if Aziraphale was worried _now_, Crowley knew he'd never agree to his plan.

"Fine," Crowley raised his hands in a gesture of peace, "I sold some things."

Aziraphale's expression changed immediately, "Not the Bentley-"

"No! Of course not!" Crowley rolled his eyes, "Just some stuff in the apartment that I didn't really need."

They sat for a moment quietly.

"Well," Aziraphale sat down on the opposite corner of the blanket to him, "then, I'm sorry for shouting." He picked up a sandwich and Crowley watched anxiously as he bit into it, ridiculously pleased when the angel made his usual yummy-food-sound.

By the time the food was gone (mostly eaten by Aziraphale, though Crowley had helped with the ham sandwiches and a cupcake he'd been surprised to find was rather pleasant), they'd also made their way through a bottle a wine, not so fine a vintage as they were used to, but an acceptable drink all the same.

"I had no idea you could cook, dear boy," Aziraphale told him as he topped their glasses up again from a new bottle.

Crowley covered his smile up with a smirk, "It's not exactly rocket science, Angel."

"Still, maybe it's something you could pursue in the future," Aziraphale sat down, "after all, it's not like we have to go around performing miracles, or temptations anymore."

This was a thought that had also crossed Crowley's mind. But he'd think about that later.

"Speaking of the future," he began, trying to remember the speech he'd prepared over the weeks since the world hadn't ended, "what with us not using miracles, have you considered what we're going to do about money? I mean, we're living like humans so we've got to use it, right?"

Aziraphale sighed and slumped in his chair, looking into his wine with sad eyes, "Honestly, Crowley, I'm not sure. I imagine I'll have to sell some of my books."

Crowley allowed the silence to build, looking into his own wine like he was thinking about it. He wasn't trying to be manipulative, though his actions might have seemed otherwise. In fact, he was simply being very careful. He knew Aziraphale better than anybody and knew that he was quick to shoot things down without considering them if they were presented in the wrong way, mostly due to fear of what Heaven would do if they heard about him agreeing with Crowley's suggestions. True, they'd both made their stances against Heaven and Hell, but he wasn't sure whether Aziraphale would still respond in such a way through habit. And he didn't want to put a foot wrong.

He'd already lost the angel once, or so it had seemed, and he had no intention of ever doing so again.

"Well, maybe," he said slowly, as if the idea was just coming to him, "There's this thing humans do, I saw it on TV the other day, where people who know each other and get on well... live in the same house. And you know," he plunged on ahead without looking at Aziraphale's face in case he lost his nerve, "We get on pretty well, and it's cheaper for two people to live together than separately…"

Aziraphale was frowning slightly when Crowley finally dared to look at him, "Crowley, are you asking me to move in with you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Angel," Crowley tried to cover the nerves he was feeling with a stretch before lounging back onto his chair, projecting a sense of ease he knew full well he wasn't feeling, "I know you'd never leave this place. I was asking if I could move in with you."


	2. Chapter 2: Crossing Lines

**Chapter 2: Changes**

Aziraphale didn't say no. He fussed and fretted about the Bentley (which Crowley had already found a place to store) and the fact that Crowley was selling his property, and was he _sure_ that the bookshop wasn't too messy. But he didn't say no. So slowly, and as careful as he ever was when it came to the angel, Crowley started to move in.

To begin with, he slept over once every three days, Aziraphale insisting that he take the bed.

"Because, after all, my dear, I prefer to read." The Bentley was moved into a rented garage, and Crowley spent some of his spare time learning how cars worked. After all, it was a miracle that the thing was still in mint condition. Literally.

The art and fancy furniture was sold off by the time Crowley was sleeping at the bookshop every other night. When his apartment finally sold, the shop was showing signs of another person's signature for the first time in its existence.

Aziraphale, it turned out, was just a little bit of a hoarder and Crowley had learnt that he was also a "piler". If something was in a pile, then it was "put away" and tidy. This was, in crowley's mind, incredibly ineffective. As a demon, he was mindful that he was _meant_ to be slothful. His understanding of slothful, however, was "work smarter, not harder", and piles were not smart.

And so it was that Aziraphale learned one of the most surprising things about his demon. Crowley was remarkably _domesticated_. Baking and cooking were only his most recently learned behaviours. Crowley cleaned and tidied with the same ferociousness that he applied to his plants. The bookshop had never looked so dust-free, and the piles of books had been shelved into new bookshelves.

"Because, _honestly_ angel, look how you treat these first editions you're always going on about."

The new bookshelves weren't the only new editions. Aziraphale had insisted that Crowley keep his plants and had placed many of them in the front of the shop, as if showing them off. To Crowley's surprise, they seemed to flourish despite their darker environment, and the angel's coddling and praise. Crowley, of course, continued to threaten them, but did so much quieter, with much less menace than before.

And when one manifested a spot, he simply removed it from the shop. Aziraphale later saw a remarkably similar one planted and thriving in a spare piece of dirt during one of their walks in the park. He didn't comment upon it, but he did buy the demon a new plant to replace it, which Crowley was quietly and begrudgingly nicer to – unable to bring himself to menace something that Aziraphale had bought him.

As well as the new bookshelves, Crowley had also insisted on setting up a real kitchen in the small room that had previously housed the sink and wine fridge. It quickly became Aziraphale's favourite addition, beside the demon himself, and not just because of the good food that Crowley made in it.

Aziraphale had known the demon for a long time, but he'd never known him to ever seem as calm and truly relaxed as he did when he was cooking. Once, he'd even caught Crowley singing under his breath, though he'd stopped as soon as he'd realised he was being watched.

To Aziraphale, it was like getting to see a glimpse, an echo, a ghost of the angel that Crowley had once been. It was heartwarming.

It was heartbreaking.

"What did you do before…?" It had taken Aziraphale several months since Crowley had moved in full time (and several large glasses of wine) for him to pluck up the courage to finally ask.

Crowley frowned, lounging on his usual sofa, lying on his back with his head hanging over the arm. He held a hand up, counting on his fingers.

"Wassss….engineer, f' M25… and some bridgesss… wasssss…. Wassssitcalled? Ringsss people at home at irritating timesss? Telemarketer! F' a week. Uhhhh…" he screwed his face up. "Did other sstuff too, but a loooong time ago."

Aziraphale tried to smile at him.

"Before-before, I meant? You know we've never really talked about it and I wondered…"

Crowley went quiet. Aziraphale was about to apologise and tell him to forget he'd asked when he finally spoke in the softest, saddest voice Aziraphale had ever heard him use.

"Starsss…. Made starss…. Big….. sssmall….. lotssa starsss…"

"Alpha Centauri,"Aziraphale remembered. Crowley kept his hooded eyes on the ceiling.

"Two starsss…" Crowley lifted a hand and swirled it around in the air, " dancing round an' round an' round an' round an' round. F'ever. Too much ssspeed to collide. To much gravity to ssseparate. Together, 'til somethin' gives."

Aziraphale felt like he understood the sensation. Hadn't they been doing the same for centuries? Crowley rubbed his hands over his face, setting up and looking down at the floor. Almost hunched up. Aziraphale moved to sit next to him, sobering up slightly.

"I'm sorry."

Crowley let out a singular, humourless laugh.

"Wasn't your fault I fell. Shouldn't have asked questions. Should've just done as I was told."

It didn't, in Aziraphale's opinion, sound entirely fair. Especially after _he'd_ done so much and only gotten into trouble with Gabriel. He half lifted a hand towards the demon's shoulder, but hesitated.

"Do you miss it?"

"Heaven? _Fuck_ no," Crowley leant back, "Especially not after seeing it again. I'd forgotten how… _lifeless_ it was."

"Cleaner than Hell though."

"There are _cesspools_ cleaner than Hell." Crowley snorted, but without his usual vigour, Aziraphale noticed. His hand moved again, landing on the crowley's shoulder. For a second, the demon tensed and he feared that he had crossed the unspoken line between them. He was about to withdraw when Crowley leaned into his touch, pushing his hand across his shoulders until the demon was tucked under his arm. Aziraphale shot him a surprised look, but Crowley was very definitely, resolutely, not looking at him.

"I don't get why you're so nice to me," Crowley muttered after a long pause, "I'm bad."

"You are not bad," Aziraphale pulled him into a tighter hug; felt him take a deep breath, as if to speak, and cut him off. "You were the first person to _ever _say something nice, something reassuring to me, when I need it most."

"Noah's ark!" He wafted his free hand through the air and mimicked the demon's voice, "'You can't kill _kids_', all the angels in heaven and it was _you _who felt the same as me, Crowley!" He carried on, feeling his voice getting louder as he tried to pour as much emphasis into what he was saying as possible. "You took Jesus on a world tour, because he was a carpenter's son who didn't have great travel opportunities. You saved _me_ from the French, _and_ the Nazis. You were an excellent nanny to young Warlock, that boy _adored_ you. You stopped Armageddon. When you got that commendation for the Spanish Inquisition, you were black-out drunk for a week after you'd checked it out."

The angel took a breath. Looked down at the top of Crowley's head. "Besides," he tried to joke, "I don't think someone truly bad, truly evil can cook food quite as tasty as yours."

Crowley chuckled quietly. Emboldened, Aziraphale added, "I don't think it does cuddles either."

A pause, then, "Think that might just be me."

"You could have said," Aziraphale admonished gently.

"Not really," Aziraphale felt Crowley slide an arm behind his back carefully, resting a hand on his side, "We were on opposite sides. We couldn't be too friendly. Imagine what would have happened if either of us had been caught."

Neither need much imagination to know _that_.

For a while, they sat in a comfortable silence together, Crowley eventually resting his head on Aziraphale's chest, beginning to wonder if there was a line any more. If there ever had been.

"I love you."

"You love everything angel," Crowley sighed, "It's what makes you _you._"

Aziraphale moved his hand to the back of Crowley's neck, running his fingers through the short hair.

"Yes, I love everything generally. Except traffic wardens. And raisin cookies that look like chocolate chip cookies. But I love books specifically. And you, specifically."

Crowley pulled away and turned, yellow eyes meeting blue searchingly. Aziraphale was a terrible liar and Crowley had known him long enough to know all his tells. But there were none, no worried eyebrows, no petulant voice. Only patience.

Crowley didn't _do _emotions, not really, that was an Aziraphale thing.

But there wasn't a line.

He didn't have to hide.

So he sighed, moved back to his previous place in the embrace, and muttered, "You too."

They smiled, each unseen by the other, simply enjoying the affectionate contact, completely at ease and so comfortable that, after a while, they both fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3: Finances and Frosting

**Chapter Three: Finances and Frosting**

"Turn the brightness up on the screen or you'll have a headache for the rest of the day," Crowley warned from the kitchen, hands busy as he mixed a new cake recipe. From his seat in front of his aged computer, Aziraphale sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Small problem, my dear."

Crowley put the bowl down and walked over, placing his hands on his shoulder and looked at the screen.

"That's a lot of red. I take it that's not good."

"Even _when_ I sell books, I'm not selling enough," the angel complained, "There just isn't enough interest in old first editions."

"So sell new books," Crowley rested his chin on the angel's head gently. "The one's Adam put in sold quickly, didn't they?"

"But then what would I do with all of my first editions?"

"Museum?" Crowley suggested with a grin, stepping back as Aziraphale made to swat him before going back to his baking.

Aziraphale racked his brains. It had taken a lifetime to amass his collection, several really, and he had read each one countless times. They were things that were _his_, and it gave him no small sense of accomplishment to know that. And yet, much as he hated to admit it, the collection had reached a point where it was no longer sustainable, especially now they were having to fund things for themselves.

The smell of warm cake permeated into his thoughts and he watched as Crowley placed the results of his latest baking on a tray to cool, trying to catch the demon's eyes.

"You're supposed to wait until they're frosted." Crowley didn't need to look at him to know the expression his angel was pulling.

"I'm stress eating?" Aziraphale tried, using the sad voice and eyes he knew the demon couldn't resist. Crowley looked over at him, sighed, then picked up one of the buns and brought it over.

"Thank you," Aziraphale beamed, removing the case quickly, slightly burning his fingertips. He looked at the small cake thoughtfully as he waited for it to cool enough to eat. "Maybe bookshops are just a thing of the past." He looked so dejected that Crowley wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Hey, we're not in trouble-trouble yet. You don't need to get upset."

"It isn't fair of me to expect you to pay for everything," Aziraphale told him, slightly happier with the demon's arms around him, "We're a _team_. Maybe I should get a job?"

"Angel, you are very clever, but nowadays you need certificates and things for jobs. Unless you own your own business."

Aziraphale sighed and took a bite of the cake. Delicious as always, even without the frosting. He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully, looking at the remainder.

"What's up? Is it bad?" Crowley sniffed at it but it smelt fine to him, "What's wrong?"

"What if it wasn't a bookshop?" Aziraphale murmured. Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. "What if we sold something else?" Aziraphale grinned, turning to face him properly.

"Like?"

"Like these!" Aziraphale held up the remaining cake.

"My cakes?"

"Yes! Like a bookshop, library, café!"

"Az… that's…" Crowley started releasing him and pulling away, "I…" Aziraphale felt his bubble of excitement hesitate at the sight of the suddenly reticent Crowley.

"I…I just thought… you seem to like baking so much…" he faltered.

"No, no… I do…" Crowley went back to the kitchen and began pulling ingredients out of the fridge, "I just… making a single batch is very different to making lots. And there's probably some sort of training that you have to do, and forms and inspections…and we really don't have the room out there…"

"Well, I'd have to get rid of some books," Aziraphale admitted, "but if you don't want to-"

"I just," Crowley sighed, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if asking for strength (an endearing habit in Aziraphale's opinion), "it's…nice… to be creating something…positive…for myself? I don't want to end up hating it."

Aziraphale nodded, understanding, and moved to snake his arms around his demon's waist, pressing his face between Crowley's shoulder blades.

"Don't worry, forget about it. I'll think of something else."

All the next day, Aziraphale spent his time wracking his brain while he watched the shop. Crowley popped out occasionally to hand him a drink or a snack, but apart from that and two customers (who did actually buy something, thankfully), he spent the day alone. After he'd eventually closed the shop up, he spent a little time perusing his own bookshelves, picking out some of the titles he knew absolutely could not bear to part with. Once he'd got a stack of ten, he hid them behind the counter. After such an unproductive day, it was nice to walk into the back room to the smell of food. The amount, however, was surprising.

"Are we feeding the 5,000?"

"It's a test," Crowley explained, as he ever-so-carefully finished off a set of cupcakes, "_not_ a challenge."

Aziraphale plucked one of the treats from its position and enjoyed it with his usual enthusiasm, fighting a smile, and failing. "I don't think even I could eat all of this. Certainly not in one go. Did you have a plan of what to do with it all?"

Crowley shrugged, looked about at the mass of treats, "I might have gone a _bit_ overboard."

Aziraphale picked up a second treat for the hundred or so around him. Maybe the whole café thing hadn't been such a terrible idea after all.


	4. Interlude 1: Pillow Talk

_AN: small break in chapters here as we go through a time skip._

**Interlude**:** Pillow talk**

"Crowley?"

"Shhhh… sleep time angel."

Aziraphale rolled over to face the demon curled up in his bed.

"Are you happy?"

Crowley grumbled, then opened his eyes as he fully registered the angel's question. They were looking less and less serpentine, Aziraphale had noticed, though he had not brought it up in conversation (how was one even supposed to do so?). In fact, other than the golden-yellow colour action of the iris, they could almost have been mistaken for human now.

"Of course I am," Crowley replied, "a…aren't you?"

"Yes! Gosh, yes," Aziraphale rushed to reassure him and caught the faintest glimpse of relief as he did so. "I just… I've been wondering… if… you know… there was anything… you felt was missing?"

Crowley rolled onto his back, running a hand through his hair dramatically. "We are _not_ getting a pet of _any_ kind." He said. Not for the first time.

"I'm not asking that."

Crowley turned his head, his eyebrows furrowed, "like what, then?"

Aziraphale looked at him. Felt the words die of embarrassment in his throat. Swallowed them. Rolled back over and curled up.

"Never mind, doesn't matter- good night dear!"

He heard Crowley shift.

"Angel, like what?" He asked in a low voice. Aziraphale pressed his lips together, feeling heat rush to his face, and shook his head.

"_Aziraphale_, like what?"

The angel muttered something unintelligible.

"What?"

"Sex." Aziraphale pulled the cover over his face. Crowley was quiet. Unsettlingly so. Aziraphale began to babble, "I just thought… tempting and things… and you've always seemed… well, I've always thought you were… you know… that you'd made the effort…and…" He trailed off. For a while longer, Crowley was so still that Aziraphale wasn't even sure if he was breathing (not that he really _needed_ to, of course). When he did eventually speak, his voice was incredibly soft. Softer than since the bookshop had been fixed.

"Are you asking because _you_ want to… or because you think _I _might want to…?"

Aziraphale closed his eyes, glad that Crowley couldn't see his face, and whispered back, "I wondered if you wanted to."

There was a rustle. Crowley's arm slid around his waist and Aziraphale could suddenly feel his breath on the back of his neck. Involuntarily, Aziraphale tensed. Crowley's voice was still soft when he spoke again.

"I'm happy as we are. I don't need anything else. I don't… _want_… anything else. Just this. Just you."

Aziraphale carefully turned so they were face to face once more. "Are you sure?"

Crowley gave him a wry smile, "I've tried it. I didn't think it was anything special. Honestly, it was messy and I didn't find it particularly enjoyable. _This_ is much nicer." He squeezed the angel tighter to him, their foreheads touching.

Aziraphale smiled back at him and kissed his nose.

"Goodnight dear."

"Goodnight angel."

Crowley fell asleep quickly, as he always did. Aziraphale watched him and waited until he was sure that the demon was out for the count before letting the smile fade. He carefully rolled onto his back, Crowley moving closer instinctively at the loss of contact, and stared up at the ceiling, placing his free hand over his eyes.

"_Liar._" He scolded himself.


	5. Interlude 2: Headache

**Interlude 2: Headache**

Crowley came home through the back door of the shop, dumping his jacket onto the back of a chair and heading straight to the fridge.

"How was the training?" Aziraphale looked up from his current book. Looking back at him, Crowley pulled a bottle of wine out of the fridge and shook it. "That bad?"

Crowley dropped onto his favourite couch and poured himself a large glass of wine, then offered the bottle to Aziraphale. He took it and went to fetch his own glass.

"A _lot_ of reading today." Crowley leant back his head and closed his eyes.

"Ah," Aziraphale joined him, "I know you're not a fan." He took a sip then frowned a little. "You seemed okay with that online course a few weeks ago. Weren't you reading all day then?"

Crowley waved a hand like he was batting the question aside, eyes still shut. "That was different. It was on the laptop. I could change the font to make it easier to read, or have the robot voice program read it me."

"Seems rather lazy, making someone – or some_thing_ – read it to you."

"Not if reading it yourself gives you a huge headache." Crowley rubbed at his eyes. "_Ugh_. How do humans deal with this?"

"You know, I'm not actually sure. Maybe we should ask Anathema, or I could just…"

"No miracles, remember. Not even little ones. And she'll just recommend a plant, it's _always_ plants with her." His tone was warmer than his words might have suggested. Crowley took his phone out of Aziraphale's hands without looking. "Ask her tomorrow. It's late and I'll be fine after a rest." He took a large swing of his wine.

"Does it always give you a headache, reading?" Aziraphale was curious. "I mean, I knew you didn't read books, but… is that why?"

"Yeah." A simple statement, delivered while the demon still had his eyes closed.

Aziraphale sat for a moment thinking. "But… we're not humans… we can't _have_ bad eyesight. So… why does it give you a headache."

Crowley shrugged. "I think it's just the _effort_ involved, you know? All the letters and stuff moving around and having to concentrate to make them sit even sort of still."

Aziraphale gave him a puzzled look. There was a long pause.

"The letters…move?"

Crowley opened one eye. "…yes?"

"All of the time?"

The demon opened the other eyes and shifted in his seat, shoulders raising slightly. "Well, yeah, but some fonts are… stiller?...than others."

Aziraphale passed him the book he'd been reading, "Look at this."

Crowley groaned, "Oh, _no_ angel. I've just spent _all day_ reading."

"You don't _need _to read it," Aziraphale opened the book to a random page. "Just tell me what it _looks_ like to you."

Crowley groaned again, slithering downward in his seat, with his eyebrows raised. But he eventually relented, squinting as he obliged. "Yep. Words on a book."

"Still or not?"

"All over the place. Look, this is just a _me_ thing. It's fine, really, I can cope." He drained his glass and stood up. "I think I need a nap. Goodnight angel."

Aziraphale stopped him from leaving to plant a kiss on his forehead, wishing him a goodnight. He knew Crowley well enough to notice the tiny signs that he was feeling… not inadequate, per se…but…different. And he knew that he preferred to deal with that himself.

Once he heard the demon head upstairs, Aziraphale stood up and retrieved Crowley's laptop, placing it on the table. He hated using the thing, despite Crowley's insistence that he couldn't make it stop working, but his ancient computer didn't deal with the internet very well – unless it was for taxes.

"Alright," Aziraphale pulled his chair in, psyching himself up, and began to type.

Crowley woke up alone, slightly disappointed to find the bed empty of his angel. It smelt like he'd not joined him at all overnight. At least his headache was gone. Downstairs, he was greeted by a mug of cocoa, complete with whipped cream topper. He smiled as he took it, registering the bouncy exuberance of Aziraphale as he did so.

"New book?" He asked as he settled into a chair.

"Not quite," Aziraphale smiled and slid a box over to him.

Crowley side-eyed it but took it and opened it. He held the contents up, raising an eyebrow and looking around it at his angel.

"Uh…_thanks_?"

"It's just an experimental one," Aziraphale explained, "here, try it." And passed him a book.

Crowley groaned.

"_Crowley_," Aziraphale used his no arguments tone, "just… humour me?"

"Alright, what do I do?" Crowley relented. It wasn't worth an argument. Aziraphale opened the book, then instructed Crowley to lay the thick piece of card on top of it. He'd very carefully cut a thin, rectangular opening in it, which slotted over a line in the book.

"Now try."

Crowley gave him a pleading look, but he simply tapped the card. Heaving an enormous sigh, Crowley looked down.

He blinked. Frowned. His eyes traced the line of words. He lifted the card up and winced before replacing it, then very carefully sliding it down to the next line.

"Well?" Aziraphale burst out, unable to contain himself a moment longer.

"I…I don't…" Crowley lifted the card again, "_How_?"

"Does it _help_?" Aziraphale looked over his shoulder – in vain he realised immediately. Crowley was quiet.

"Yeah…it…does? This is weird. How did you…?"

Aziraphale has the grace to look embarrassed, "I may have done some internetting on your computer."

"_Really_," Crowley smiled at him, "I might make a 20th century man out of you yet." He looked back at the book, read another line, then shut the book, carefully sliding the card out as an afterthought. "Thank you."

"I know it won't help all of the time," Aziraphale admitted, "but… I may have found other things that we could try too."

"You're _far _too good for me, you know." Crowley told him.

"No, I don't know." Aziraphale draped his arms over Crowley's shoulders, so they were cheek to cheek, and kissed him.


	6. Interlude 3: The good

**Interlude 3: The Good…**

Crowley was in a very good mood. Aziraphale could always tell. He'd woken up early and made breakfast (crêpes, Aziraphale's favourite) and was now busy experimenting in the kitchen to the sound of the radio. To his disappointment, Aziraphale had to be in the shop but he had settled himself close enough that he could hear what was going on in both the shop and the kitchen. The radio was playing some classic rock station, except for the odd Queen track he wasn't familiar with most of the songs. But Crowley was. And he was singing along.

Not constantly, of course. Just occasionally, Aziraphale would hear snatches of songs sung in his demon's rough tenor. He wouldn't have traded a thousand symphonies for those few moments.

He was fighting his grin when Crowley appeared from the kitchen holding a sandwich.

"Lunch?" He called out towards the front of the shop then realised Aziraphale was far closer and tilted his head at him. "Thought you were watching the shop?"

"Oh, I am." Aziraphale attempted to look innocent. Crowley narrowed his eyes suspiciously and _hmm_ed debut passed him the sandwich before disappearing.

"Crowley, dear?"

"Mmhm?"

They were sat on the couch together, Aziraphale leaning back onto Crowley's chest while he watched one of his favourite shows. The angel wasn't entirely sure he understood what was happening in it, even though Crowley had tried to explain several times and offered to restart it, but he _did_ enjoy watching it all the same. Especially as it was a shared experience.

"How come you only ever sing when you think no-one's listening?"

"How come you never sing?" He shot back, not looking away from the TV, "You're an angel, after all, don't you have perfect pitch?"

"Well, for _me_ it's because I have an awful lot of memories of using my voice to soothe humanity in its most heartbreaking moments. And so, whenever I sing – _really_ sing not just imitate instruments – I'm reminded of those moments."

There was a long pause then a sigh.

"Your reason is so much more…_valid?_... than mine."

Aziraphale scuttled down so he could look up at his demon's face expectantly. Crowley looked down at him, grumbled slightly under his breath, then leant back his head so his face couldn't be seen.

"Demon's don't sing," He said simply. Aziraphale waited.

"That's it?"

"I mean, yeah?" Crowley waved a hand in the air as he tried to explain, "I've spent over 6000 years trying to blend in with other demons. Singing is an _angel_ thing like… like… rescuing kids or… feeding the hungry."

"Both of which I seem to recall you doing at one time or another." Aziraphale beamed up at him. Crowley looked down at him with a frown.

"Can you imagine what would have happened if They'd found out about that? Or if they caught me singing? I'd have been the laughing stock of Hell. And down there, loss of credibility means loss of respect, means you move down the hierarchy and _that_ means danger. It's an old habit, Ron from self-preservation."

Aziraphale immediately felt contrite. He'd never thought of it like that. Even though Crowley was a demon, even though he'd _walked through Hell as Crowley, _somehow, he never ever considered the two as linked. Hell was Hell and Crowley was _Crowley_.

"Your reason is just as valid as mine," he told him, earning a doubtful look from Crowley, who was prone to downplaying himself much to the angel's distress. He gave him a sad look, "Do you still feel like you need to hide it?"

Crowley rested his nose on Aziraphale's head. "No… yes? _No._" He closed his eyes. "You're… safe? Not like-" he opened his eyes again, looking up with an irritated noise, "it's like… it's okay? To be me. With you. Me-me. Not, them-me." He let out a growl of frustration, "you know I'm not good at the whole expressing thing."

"Even if _you_ think that is so, I think I understand." Aziraphale smiled up at him and saw the corners of his mouth twitch upwards slightly. "Do you think that maybe, one day, you could sing something for me?"

Crowley knew if he looked down he'd see those eyes – blue like a summer sky and filled with an enduring child-like wonder and a love he was pretty sure he didn't deserve – and he wouldn't be able to say no. Aziraphale waited patiently. Crowley flicked his eyes down.

He didn't say no.

_What kind of song could he possibly sing?_

The quest pestered Crowley endlessly. He not promised anything, except it _felt_ like he _had_, but songs were…

Crowley had never been fond of books but _stories_ were different. He'd liked _them_ from the moment he'd heard his first one. During the Viking years, you'd have found him in the long houses listening to the sagas as he drank. Ancient Greece's open-air theatres had been a regular haunt and they'd _both_ been regulars at The Globe.

In many ways, songs were stories. Over the years he'd listened to so many that now he was quite adept at coming up with some of his own – imagination was one of the features of himself that he was most proud of – and the songs he liked the most either _told_ a story, or had something about them that had helped him create a story for them. And that was where the problem started. Whatever song he sang to his angel, he wanted it to _mean_ something, to express all the things he struggled to say. And he wanted it to be a song that Aziraphale would like too, though he suspected that he'd like anything if Crowley was singing it.

And so he wracked his brain, he played the radio whenever he could, he even took to the internet (after all, there were music genres other than rock, but the radio only seemed to find rock stations), all to find the right words.

Eventually, he finally stumbled on something.

It was a little spoon night for Aziraphale. If it hadn't been for the fact that he loved any kind of physical contact with his demon, he'd have said it was one of his favourite's. It had been months since they'd had the song conversation. So long that Aziraphale had wondered (sometimes, and always with a deep sense of guilt afterwards) if Crowley had forgotten the not-a-promise.

"You awake?" Crowley whispered softly into his ear.

"Just about." He yawned. Crowley's fault, he'd never slept until he'd moved in, but now he had to admit it was rather enjoyable really. "Why?"

Crowley nuzzled the back of his head, took a deep breath. And, quietly at first, almost in a whisper, he began to sing.

"I'd give up forever to touch you, cause I know that you feel me somehow. You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be, and I don't want to go home right now. And all I can taste is this moment, and all I can breathe is your life, and sooner or later it's over, I just don't want to miss you tonight."

Aziraphale lay listening, hardly daring to breath as Crowley's voice strengthened and became more sure, in case he disturbed him. By the second chorus, he could feel himself whispering along. Of course Crowley had picked a song that fitted them so well. As the last words faded into the bedroom's former silence, Aziraphale turned over and pressed his lips to Crowley's. Sometimes words were simply not enough.

* * *

**AN: Obviously, I don't own "Iris" (Goo Goo Dolls). I ran through a bunch of different songs, but eventually settled for this one as it's older and more well known (so more likely to be stumbled upon). One more interlude to go!**


	7. Interlude 4: and the bad

**Interlude 4: …and the bad.**

It was a bad day. Crowley got them sometimes, had done ever since the shop-fire, but it had been a while since his last (3 months, 2 weeks and 3 days by Aziraphale's count). They started with a sourceless, pervasive sense of dread – a certainty that something bad was going to happen. This time, it had been triggered by a dream where he'd not been able to find Aziraphale anywhere, and exacerbated by the fact that he'd slept through the alarm, so when he'd woken up and instinctively reached for Aziraphale, his angel hadn't been there.

For a moment he'd lain perfectly still, frozen in fear. Then he'd flung himself out of bed, thrown on the first clothes he'd found and rushed downstairs, heart pounding and dishevelled. He'd paused by the door into the main shop, able to hear Aziraphale interacting with a customer, not wanting anyone else to see him like this, running his hands through the mess of hair on his head. He leant his head on the door that was between them, his eyes closed with the effort of trying to control his breathing and fear.

After what felt like an age, he heard the shop door-bell ring and edged the door open. He fully intended to make sure the shop was empty, but when he saw Aziraphale by the counter he was so overwhelmed with relief that all attempts at control failed.

Aziraphale was slightly startled by the arms that wrapped him into a tight hug as his demon buried his nose in his blond curls, taking in the scent, but he'd known him long enough to recognise that this was a bad day. He always knew. Crowley slept in longer and his hugs were just a little bit desperate. Crowley wouldn't tell him what triggered the bad days, but he'd learnt some ways to help. So he leant back into the hug, laying his hands over Crowley's, increasing the contact.

"Bad day?"

"Mmhmm."

"What do you need?" Aziraphale turned and placed his hands either side of his demon's face. Serpentine eyes stared back at him, full with all the things Crowley struggled to articulate.

"You," He whispered.

"I'm here," Aziraphale planted a kiss on his forehead, "Just let me shut up the shop."

Normally, Crowley would argue that there was no need, and simply sit behind the counter – sometimes under it – content to just be close. So Aziraphale knew today was worse than normal when he just nodded, releasing him and standing there like a lost boy.

"Talk to me," Aziraphale pleaded, stroking Crowley's hair. They were still stood behind the counter – had been since he'd shut the shop up and returned to his demon – with Crowley burying his head between his neck and shoulder. "I hate seeing you like this. What can I do to help?" Crowley shook his head and Aziraphale wondered if he didn't want to say, or if he just wasn't able to. "Please, Crowley, talk to me," He tried again.

"You were gone," Crowley whispered. Aziraphale felt the slightest tremble in his body and held him tighter. "I couldn't find you, anywhere."

"Oh, Crowley,"Aziraphale whispered back, "I'm here. We're _safe_."

"No. We're not," Crowley raised his eyes to meet Aziraphale's, "They're going to come for us again."

"Crowley-"

"I'm… I can't… I can't lose you. Not again."

Aziraphale looked into those eyes, sad and scared, and knew he should say something to fix it. But he couldn't. He'd had the same fearful thoughts in those dark moments when Crowley was asleep but he couldn't. And if that was what was triggering the bad days, this fear, anything he said to try and allay it would be a lie. They _were_ going to come for them. It was a matter of when, not if.

"Crowley… I…" he pushed their foreheads together, his hand's tangling in Crowley's red hair. "I was so mad when you asked me for Holy Water that time because I was so scared I'd lose you. You are the best thing in my life, in my existence, and I'm sorry that it took me so long to show you that. I wish I could promise that neither of us will feel that pain again." He opened his eyes, and they stared at each other as the angel's voice cracked, "But I can't. All I can promise is that when the time comes, we won't go quietly – and we'll do our damnedest to take some of them with us!"

For the first time all day, Crowley let out a short breath, almost a laugh, and there was a tiny smile on his lips. "They don't know what a force you are when you're roused, angel."

Aziraphale smiled back, "I've never had something that was mine to fight for before." To his relief, he felt a bit more of the tension leave Crowley's body. "We can't change the future," He continued sadly, "but we can control the here-and-now. Let's not let them ruin our moments, okay?"

"Deal," Crowley sighed.

For the first time since the world hadn't ended, they went out. They walked in the park; went to a restaurant. They simply enjoyed themselves.

One day, they both knew, there would be a reckoning. But it wasn't happening right now. And however much time they had left, they certainly weren't going to spend it thinking about the end. There would always be bad days, but they would deal with them as they came, together.


	8. Chapter 4: The End

**Chapter 4: The End.**

Change was a funny thing, Aziraphale mused as he handed a coffee and one of Crowley's most popular creations over the counter to a young woman. When he considered the changes in his existence, he found it amazing that so many had happened in the few years since the Not-Apocalypse. Many of these changes had now been projected into the world around him. The sign on his shop had changed to read "Fell's book and tea room" and the inside was more tables and chairs than bookshelves. Verdant plants were dotted around the space, the source of much admiration. On his counter sat a new till, complete with a new-tangled card reader and a display case of cakes and goodies, while behind it, on a table, a hot drinks machine hummed quietly to itself.

And, in the back room, washing up and baking when needed but very often out in front alongside Aziraphale, chatting to the customers – was Crowley. Perhaps the changes were most obvious in him. Freedom suited him.

Since the refurbishment and reopening, they'd quickly become a place for an eclectic clientele: bikers and students, young single parents, teenagers and youths who felt unwelcome in almost all other places. All were made welcome here. The Lost and Lonely, Crowley had dubbed them with a protective smile.

And business was good, better than it have ever been as a bookshop. They'd even started to make a profit. There were still bad days, of course, where they put on brave faces while out in front, snatching tiny moments of reassuring contact: a brush of fingers, a tiny nudge. But the good outweighed the bad and they kept to the here and now, and secretly prepared for the reckoning they knew would come.

When it came, Aziraphale was running the shop alone. There were about 3 hours a day where things slackened off – not to the point of there being no customers, thankfully – and Crowley had taken the opportunity to visit the Bentley. Aziraphale had just served one customer, a regular, and was looking at a brochure, considering the idea of a weekend away, when he heard the doorbell ring. He looked up with a warm smile already forming to welcome customers. And froze.

Striding up to the counter in business suits that couldn't have stuck out more if they'd _tried_, was Gabriel, flanked by two other angels. Aziraphale closed the brochure and forced himself to keep the smile up.

"What can I get you?"

Gabriel screwed his face up as he looked around the shop. "Aren't you just _full_ of surprises."

Aziraphale met his gaze, placing his hands onto the counter to stop them from shaking, the memory of a walk in the park running through his mind, and a deep fear for Crowley churning in his stomach. He tried to look calmly polite.

"We've worked it out, you know. Your little _trick_," Gabriel spat out the word, "Cowards to the last, I suppose. But all you've done is bought yourself and your…" his face twisted into an expression of disgust, "bought yourselves time."

Behind the angels, one of the regulars stood up, six foot of tattooed muscle and attitude, and gave Aziraphale a questioning look.

"If you're not here to buy then you need to leave." Aziraphale forced himself to sound firm and look contemptuous, wishing they'd had the foresight to have _some_ sort of weapon under the counter. He was already calculating the his odds – and they were bad. Not that he wouldn't fight if he had to.

"Not going to happen." Gabriel nodded to his lackeys and they started to move forwards. Aziraphale took a step back from the counter, instinctively finding space.

"I think the three of you should do as he's asked," came a voice and they paused.

All of the customers currently in the shop were regulars and they were all on their feet, two of them with mobile phones in their hands.

"Smile! You're on camera!" One said, while the other other wiggled her mobile.

"I've got 999 ready to go."

The three bikers – all rough and ready types – cracked their muscles, the tallest of them rolling his shoulders, "My brother's a lawyer. Pretty sure he could get me out of a GBH case."

The lackeys shifted, looking around uncertainly. They'd never seen a show of force from humans, Aziraphale realised. They hadn't been expecting one because _they didn't know humans_. Not like he did. They didn't know how they worked, not really: didn't know that humans were still group animals, that if you threatened an individual, the group would turn on you. Aziraphale felt a rush of affection for them, quickly halted as he saw Gabriel raise a hand.

Recognising the preparation for a miracle – no doubt to wipe their minds – Aziraphale snapped his own fingers. _Not in here._

It shouldn't have worked, he realised later, much later. Gabriel was an _Archangel_ and he was only a _Principality_. There shouldn't have been a chance of him stopping the Archangel's miracle. But perhaps the shock of being countered had been enough.

Gabriel turned, realising what, _who_, had stopped him, purple eyes dark. The bikers took a step forward. "This isn't over," he promised in a low voice, then swept out, followed hurriedly by the other angels.

Aziraphale took a deep shuddering breath, fumbling in his pocket for his own mobile – a smartphone Crowley had _insisted_ on him upgrading to – and desperately calling Crowley. The regulars were gathering around him, but he ignored their voices, willing his demon to pick up. He wasn't tricked by the answerphone, Crowley had changed it to the default one at his request. The regulars fussed and led him over to her chair, their voices nothing but white noise to him.

Aziraphale hadn't prayed since before Armageddon. But he prayed now.

_Please, __please__, let him be okay._

Crowley crashed through the front door 30 minutes later. It had been the longest, most agonising 30 minutes of their existences. The bikers tensed as he rushed in, dishevelled and jacket torn, defensive until they recognised him, but he ignored them

"Crowley," Aziraphale was already up and running towards him. They met halfway and Crowley enveloped him in an almost too-tight hug, burying his nose in his pale curls. Far too soon, he pulled away, just enough to to see Aziraphale's face, eyes wide and slitted.

"Did they hurt you?"

Aziraphale shook his head and put it back under Crowley's chin. "The regulars chased them off."

He felt Crowley turn his head. "If I lived another thousand years, I couldn't repay you for what you've done today. Thank you." There was a familiar surge of reality shifting as his demon used his first miracle in a long time. Aziraphale wasn't mad. He could guess the nature of it.

"Are you two in trouble?" One of the women asked, "Should we call the cops?"

Crowley put his nose back to his angel's hair. Aziraphale answered her. "We'll be fine. Thank you all. We're going to close up early."

They left slowly, drifting out reluctantly. Crowley locked the door with a snap of his fingers, unwilling to let go of his angel even for a short while. Besides, they'd been found. There was no use lying low now.

"How did you get away?"

"Threw battery acid at them, then whacked them with a wrench," Crowley said softly, "They sent Hastur after me. He's _really_ going to hate me now."

"What do we do now?" Aziraphale pulled back enough to look at his face, then pressed their foreheads together.

"Stay and fight or run and hide?"

"We don't stand a chance if we fight," Aziraphale felt his hand clench around the fabric of the ruined jacket.

"So we run, this time," Crowley's jaw set, his eyes serious, "We sneak out. New names, new personas, new place."

"Is that possible without miracles? We can't let them trace us."

Crowley nodded, "It's not a miracle to change our forms. Document forging is easier than it's ever been now almost everything's online, and I've been doing that for years. It creates all kinds of chaos."

Aziraphale chose not to ask. Instead, he looked around at their home. "It's not fair. We built this properly."

"When has Hell, or Heaven for that matter, ever been fair?" Crowley snorted, then he softened, "We can build it again. We sort of know what we're doing now."

"I know," Aziraphale gave him a sad smile and leant back into his chest, "We should make a plan."


	9. Chapter 5: On the Run

**Chapter 5: On the Run**

They packed a backpack each, mostly filled with the books Aziraphale could not bear to part with, although Crowley's also contained a laptop, a thick brown envelope and several different pieces of clothing. For the first time since they'd been each other, they changed the forms of their corporations. Aziraphale became a young man with mousy brown hair and dressed in a modern outfit of jeans and a University hoodie that Crowley passed him. After disappearing for a moment, Crowley returned as a young woman, shorter than Aziraphale for the first time in all the time they'd known each other, her long hair braided neatly and also wearing jeans and a similar hoodie.

Aziraphale had seen Crowley present as female before, of course, several times throughout history, but he'd still looked like him then.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"The weird face," Crowley shouldered her bag.

"It's very bizarre, you not looking… like you."

"That's the _point_ of a disguise." Crowley helped Aziraphale hoist his own bag onto his back, adjusting where the straps fell on his shoulders, before finally meeting his eyes.

"Not too heavy?"

"It's fine."

"It better be," Crowley tried to grin, but it didn't have its usual mischief, "It's your books after all." There was a pause. "This'll work."

Aziraphale was pretty sure the Crowley was trying to persuade herself. "Better get a wiggle on then, hadn't we?"

"_Wiggle on,_" Crowley snorted and shook her head.

The heavenly and hellish corporations watching the shops from various vantage points didn't pay much attention to two human students hurrying out of the alley the shop backed onto, looking ruffled, except for a demon who nudged his angelic counterpart and leered, "Humans, they practically tempt themselves!"

Train after train, swapping lines randomly, despite what they'd paid for using a card out of Crowley's envelope, they moved out of the city that had been their home for centuries, only stopping when it got too late for most normal humans to be out. They found a room in a hotel close to the station they'd ended up at, and crashed onto the bed, a distance between them that had not existed for years and ill at ease in their current forms. Aziraphale switched on the TV, hoping for a distraction, a news station immediately playing video of an all too familiar street.

"Crowley," he tapped his demon.

"Honestly! What's the point of code names if you… don't…" Crowley's grumble trailed off as she sat up and realised what was on the screen.

"Earlier tonight," the news reporter's calm voice was saying over the shakily shot footage, "A flaming vehicle was driven into London Business, Fell's Book and Tea Room, causing a large explosion and a fire that officials are only now beginning to contain."

Amidst the flames roaring out of the hole in the building's side was the twisted wreckage of the Bentley, a small gasp escaping from Crowley at the sight. The camera panned to a view of the fire crew and Aziraphale froze as he recognised Gabriel overseeing the proceedings.

"That's Hellfire," Crowley whispered, "Oh Az, I-"

"And Holy Water," Aziraphale interrupted her, "Look."

Unfamiliar bodies forgotten for the moment, they held each other for comfort as they watched the home they'd made together burn and flood.

Neither slept that night.

* * *

For two months they travelled as different people, never staying in one place for more than a night. The brown envelope had turned out to contain different bank cards, as well as notes, from the number of accounts, all of different names, that Crowley had squirrelled away over the years. A surprisingly sensible choice, considering the money he'd gotten over the years from his different escapades – especially his manipulation of stock markets.

The never-ending changing of bodies was draining, even for Crowley, both physically and mentally. Crowley took on the gender changes after Aziraphale had tried it and only managed an hour before he'd started to freak out. Had they split up, they would not have had to shift forms constantly, but it had never been an option as far as either of them were concerned.

By the end of the second week, Aziraphale was struggling. By the end of the second month, they were both a mess. Aziraphale was snappy and sarcastic. Crowley was sullen and defensive, picking a fight over every tiny thing. After a blazing row that had resulted in Crowley storming out of the room and slamming the door, one thing was clear.

"We cannot keep doing this," Aziraphale said softly when Crowley returned, sat on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest. He was unbelievably relieved that Crowley had returned as he'd spent the last 40 minutes worrying, once he'd cooled down. "We're falling apart."

Seemingly ignoring him, Crowley strode over to the window and fiddled with the curtains, making sure they were fully closed, and _then_ pulling a pack of safety pins out of her pocket (the demon was presenting as female again for the day)and safety pinning them together. Then she sighed. "I know. I'm sorry… for…well…everything…" She turned and in an instant _she_ was _he,_ and _he_ was Crowley again, wings and all, stood with his weight on one leg awkwardly and sad eyes. Aziraphale switched to the form he thought of as _him_ with a dizzying sense of relief and ran over to him, throwing his arms around his neck.

"I'm sorry," Crowley whispered again, tucking his head against his angel's neck, his hands moving to rest at the small of Aziraphale's back.

"Shhh," Aziraphale soothed, "It's not your fault. But can we _please_ find somewhere to settle? Or, at the very least, just have a rest?"

"Rest sounds good," Crowley sighed.


	10. Chapter 6: In a Name

**Chapter 6: In a Name**

Having decided on taking a rest, they extended their stay to two weeks, during which they slowly relaxed, apologised, and got back to a semblance of normal. There seemed to be no sign of danger and they began to believe that, for the time being at least, they had managed to escape. Yet even with this relief, they knew that wherever they went next, they would need new names and new forms, would need to retire the forms and names they had had for so long.

Crowley, of course, reinvented himself first.

"Well? What's the verdict?" he asked as he sauntered out of the bathroom, turning slowly to give Aziraphale the full effect. He'd kept the lanky frame – though he seemed to have bulked it out a little this time – but changed his hair to an almost black, dark brown and made his corporeal form look closer to being in its later 20s, early 30s. Through a great force of will, he'd also managed to get his eyes to become a light hazel colour, though Aziraphale was too busy looking at the rest of him to notice that yet.

After spending a while looking him over, Aziraphale had to admit that it was a pleasant view. And that, _somehow_, he'd managed to look more like himself than before, while at the same time being so very different. Explaining that in a way that would make sense proved to beyond even Aziraphale's vast vocabulary, however, so he settled for, "Suit you."

"Good," Crowley stretched languidly, and Aziraphale couldn't stop his eyes raking over him again, "because it feels very comfortable. Now all I need to sort is a name. I'm thinking… something Aster? Maybe keep the Anthony?"

"Anthony Aster?" Aziraphale pulled a face.

"I'm not sold on it either," Crowley admitted with a shrug and jumped onto the bed beside him. "Have you had any ideas?"

Aziraphale groaned and lay back, covering his face. "I've never been any good at this."

"I'd never have guessed, A. Z. Fell." And there was that wickedly mischievous grin from before that Azirpahale couldn't help but smile back at.

"I'd have thought you'd have gone for something more… spacey."

"I'm keeping Aster," Crowley insisted.

"So have a space-related first name?" Aziraphale suggested, "Something like… Sirius, Orion, or…"

"No constellation names." Crowley screwed his nose up. "They seem… pretentious? Arrogant? And not entirely sneaky, what with the whole I-use-to-make-stars thing." He rolled onto his stomach, looking thoughtful and Aziraphale resumed looking at the ceiling, wondering what on Earth he was going to pick for a name. He'd not even thought about a new corporeal form yet!

"What about… Ezekiel – Zeke really?" Crowley asked quietly and Aziraphale shot him a sideways glance. He looked miles away, laid on his front with his chin resting on his arms. Aziraphale spent a few moments trying to match the name to the new appearance beside him.

"Not Ezekiel."

"Too angelic-sounding, right?" Crowley partially turned his head to face him.

"Zeke, however…" Aziraphale remembered the last time Crowley had changed his name, becoming _Anthony_. He'd never really gotten used to it and had always been confused when Crowley had answered to it in public. "Zeke sounds nice."

"Zeke Aster," Crowley rolled the name around thoughtfully, then gave him a pleased smile, "Yeah, that's a name I could get used to."

"Which just leaves me," Aziraphale sighed, pulling a pillow over his head.

"We've got time. There's no need to rush," Crowley told him, wriggling closer.

"You looking so much younger than me is rather strange, my dear," Aziraphale complained as he wrapped his arms around him.

"Just think of me as a toyboy," Crowley grinned wickedly and Aziraphale tutted at him, wondering how his demon would feel if he knew the thoughts that such a statement conjured in his mind.

Maybe it was the new body, maybe it was the strangely different dynamic they seemed to have fallen into as they rested, but as he tried to work out what he wanted to change his corporeal form's appearance to, Aziraphale realised that Crowley was watching him more. And sometimes, he even caught of glimpse of a new emotion in his eyes. One he'd though he'd never see after their conversation all those months ago. It was that that spurred him on to settle on an appearance.

"Help me with a name?" He asked a television watching Crowley, who readily agreed, then Aziraphale disappeared into the bathroom to change as it was the only place in the room with a mirror.

Crowley opened up his laptop, wondering if he should invest in something more portable for everyday use before concentrating on the task at hand. Language was one of Aziraphale's fascinations, despite the fact that he seemed to struggle with modern lingo, so whatever his new names was, there needed to be some sort of linguistic play, Crowley decided. Knowing his angel, it also had to be something easy for him to remember – he was just _awful_ at remembering code names and was still forgetting to call Crowley 'Zeke' more than half of the time. After all, him introducing himself as _Aziraphale_ defeated the whole point of running away.

"Maybe Alexander?" Crowley muttered to himself, laptop upon his knee, "Or Ezra? He'll probably pick Alexander, he loved that library. Surname? Phhhh…." He surfed for a while, muttering to himself. "Something Ward? Nope, nope, nope." He leant back and sighed, frowning, "This is much trickier than doing it for myself."

Perhaps, he considered, he was going about it the wrong way. He'd picked 'Aster' for himself for two reasons, three really. One, it was a type of plant. Two, despite Aziraphale suggesting a spacey name for his first name, Aster was already a little spacey – _Aster_oids, for example. And Three, it sounded like the name he'd chosen for his time as Warlock's nanny, which he thought was amusing. Almost as amusing as Anthony JustaJay Crowley, even though _that_ had never reached to payoff he'd hoped for. He blamed the Nazis for that. Aziraphale might have risen to the bait more if he'd not been in the middle of such a dangerous situation. And Ezekiel…

He pushed the thoughts away. He'd picked Zeke because he liked the sound of it. It had nothing to do with fact that 'Ezekiel' had a hauntingly familiar feel to it, like a name he'd known long ago. Zeke was a human name, an inbetween name, neither heavenly or hellish, and Crowley – Zeke! He reminded himself harshly, he needed to get used being Zeke – was feeling more and more like an inbetween person.

He shook his head in an attempt to shake off the distracting thoughts and get back to the task Aziraphale had given him, shutting the lid of his laptop. He'd do this alone. _Without_ the internet. Before Aziraphale exited the bathroom, he'd come up with an idea. He just hoped his angel liked it.

Crowley was watching TV when Aziraphale finally came out of the bathroom. Fidgeting for his sleeves, the angel cleared his throat and Crowley turned away from the TV, his attention caught, his eyes widening as he looked up and down. Aziraphale tried to keep a satisfied smile from appearing on his face, but failed to completely contain it. Crowley, however did not seem to notice it.

"You're taller," he commented as he stood up, his eyes still roaming, "and… slimmer?"

"Just a little," Aziraphale admitted. He'd made himself appear around the same age as Crowley had, darkening his hair to a dark blond but keeping his blue eyes and softer looks. "Is it okay?"

Crowley closed the gap between them, running a hand gently through the darker curls, nodding, asking softly, "Does it feel… are _you_ okay with it?"

Aziraphale smiled and wrapped his arms around Crowley's waist, pulling him in close enough for a kiss. The change in height didn't seem to have changed much there. "I missed this," he murmured when they finally broke apart.

Crowley touched their foreheads together, it was much more comfortable to do so now. "I think I've got a name for you."

"Oh? Do tell, my dear."

"Ezra or Alexander?"

"You've been internetting," Aziraphale scolded him gently.

"_Googling_," Crowley corrected him with a smile, "Only a little."

Aziraphale sighed, shaking his head. "Ezra sounds familiar. Hebrew?" Crowley shrugged in answer. "Ezra… not too far from Azira… I think I could remember that… Yes. I like it. It feels… right."

"Just need a surname then," Crowley grinned at him.

"No keeping 'Fell', I suppose." He sighed.

"Ezra Fell?" Crowley raised his eyebrows.

"Point taken. Don't suppose _you've_ got any better ideas?" Crowley's grin got wider. Aziraphale gave him a little shake. "Well?"

"Furst, F-U-R-S-T." His grin was even bigger now. Aziraphale knew that grin. It was the I've-just-done-something-very-clever grin.

"Furst? Where did you get _that_ then?" He asked, playing along.

"Principality, _principalis_-" Aziraphale started at the Latin word, "First, with an I. Change I to a u. Furst."

"Oh. Oh, that's… that is _very_ clever." Aziraphale admitted and Crowley began to look smug. "Ezra Furst."

"You like it?"

"Very much, Crow- I mean, Zeke."

They were going to have to get used to these new names.

* * *

**To those who reach this far, thank you! I hope you are enjoying this. Updates will probably be coming in thick and fast as, like so many others, I've found myself with an awful lot of free time. Hope you are all staying safe and well. -Nova**


	11. Chapter 7: Piece of Eden

**Piece of Eden**

A blue Audi trundled up the pebbled drive that led to the cottage of the outskirts of Petersfield, parking up next to a small silver car that seemed to huddle into itself as it stopped. Cheerfully, the young woman greeted the Audi's occupants as they got out, the taller patting the roof of the car more out of habit than fondness.

"Mr Furst and Mr Aster," She shook both of their hands, "Congratulations on your purchase. Here are the keys."

With a wide beam, Aziraphale accepted both key rings, thanking her enthusiastically while Crowley simply stared up at the cottage's exterior. Bidding them goodbye, she drove off in the silver car and left them on the front doorstep.

"Shall we?" Aziraphale jingled the keys.

"Go on then," Crowley gestured with a smile, "Open it up."

Aziraphale obliged, unlocking the door and pushing it open, but was stopped from entering by a hand gently grasping his wrist. He looked back at Crowley with a concerned frown that was met by an all-too familiar mischievous grin.

"I've heard of a tradition I want to try," the demon explained, before sweeping an arm under his angel's knees and lifting him with a strength that didn't quite match his wiry frame – even with Aziraphale's slimmer one.

"Honestly!" Aziraphale shook his head in mock severity, quite enjoying himself really, as he was carried into the building.

Thankfully, the interior of the house had been decorated fairly recently, so it was long before they had decorated it to their tastes - a few pieces of vintage-looking comfy furniture, a few that were more sleek and modern – though not completely without disagreements, of course.

Some places brooked no arguments. The second bedroom was one – which rapidly turned into what Aziraphale called a study and Crowley called a library waiting to happen. The garden was another – which Aziraphale was more than happy to leave to Crowley as long as he made sure there were lots of flowers.

Despite the cottage's interior renovations, the garden had clearly been neglected for a good few years. It was wildly overgrown, so much so that it was almost impossible to walk in as the plants, left to their own devices, had claimed any sign of people. This was a state that Crowley admired, for the first few days, before he set about taming the wilderness and rectifying that state it had been left in.

Two weeks after their official move in, the sun was starting to set and Aziraphale hadn't seen Crowley since the morning. This was unusual for two reasons. One, Crowley almost _always_ brought him something to eat during the day, even if it was just a sandwich. And two, Aziraphale had spent the last hour with the study window open blasting a radio station he knew Crowley hated, at top volume, in an attempt to draw his demon inside while he built the last bookshelf for the study. This made Aziraphale fidgety.

Logically speaking, they had new names, new appearances, new paper trails… there was no way that they could have been tracked down.

_Logically_ speaking, if any agent of Heaven or Hell _had_ tracked them down, there would have been some sort of disturbance, which would have alerted him.

_Logically speaking_, Crowley had probably just lost track of time while gardening and hadn't heard the radio because he had earphones in.

Aziraphale was finding 'logical' very difficult.

He picked up his phone. One of their new rules (there were really only three) was that they should always have their phone with them. Looking at it, he told himself that he was being silly. _Of course_, Crowley was fine. He didn't _need_ to call him to check.

He hadn't even completed the thought before his finger had pressed the call button.

"Hey Angel."

_Thank goodness_. "Where are you? I've not seen you all day."

"In the garden," Came the reply. Of course.

"It's going to be dark soon. Are you coming in?"

"Not yet," he could hear the grin in Crowley's voice, "Come and find me, first."

Aziraphale blinked as his phone made its end-call chirp. He could see into the garden from the study window, and so he stood to peer out of it. No sign of dark hair anywhere among the tangle that was being tamed. No surprise there. Only one option then.

Crowley had been working on finding and clearing the stone paths that the garden had hidden when he'd found it. He'd known immediately what it was (how could he not) and set about clearing the path to it so that it was much easier to follow. Then he'd cleared a space around it. And then, very carefully, with a sense of bitter-sweet nostalgia, he'd climbed and settled himself securely a few feet up.

Once secure, he'd had a bit of a nap, it was – after all – rather sunny where he'd perched himself and he had done a lot of heavy lifting and shifting. He was woken by the sound of Freddie Mercury and answered Aziraphale's call, feeling rather full of life after his sun-soaked nap. Having told his angel to come and find him, he grinned, anticipation prickling his skin.

The part of the garden closest to the house, which Crowley had almost completely tidied at this point, was devoid of any lanky brunets – demonic or otherwise. Instead, Aziraphale began to follow the paths Crowley had begun to clear, sometimes more like tunnels than paths, occasionally calling out, "Zeke?"

Even in their own home, they couldn't be too careful.

Crowley listened as the class grew closer and closer, until Aziraphale finally appeared in the small clearing he'd spent most of the day creating. Part of him wanted to call out immediately, but he squashed the urge. It would be much funnier to be found.

"For goodness sake," Aziraphale muttered darkly, "Zeke!" He continued to scan around, too focused on finding his demon to notice the large tree that dominated the clearing.

"Up here!" Crowley called and enjoyed the sight of Aziraphale's surprised upwards look.

"What are you doing up there?" Aziraphale beamed up at him, worries momentarily forgotten, walking closer to the trunk and placing a hand upon it.

"Reminiscing," Crowley grinned, carefully laying down on the branch he'd made his perch so that his legs dangled below him.

"About what?" his angel tilted his head, placing his hands on his hips. Crowley only grinned wider in answer and Aziraphale shook his head. "Seriously, come down before you fall."

"Too late for that, don't you think?" Crowley rested his chin on the branch. "I'm fine, don't worry. Hey! Does this remind you of anything?"

"I'm serious, come down before you get hurt," Aziraphale fussed, placing both hand back onto the tree.

"Angel, what kind of _tree_ is this?"

"An old one? _Please_."

Crowley spotted the shift in body language. His discovery wasn't funny enough to upset his angel over. Carefully, he climbed back down. "It's an apple tree, angel," he said, somehow making it sound like an apology. Aziraphale wrapped him in a hug, relieved he was down safely – never mind that he could _fly_ if he so chose – and he continued, "I thought it was funny, us buying this place. The garden being all wild _and_ having an apple tree. Like we had a bit of Eden."

"My dear," Aziraphale placed a hand on his cheek, "Anywhere with you is Eden."

* * *

**This one has been the toughest chapter to write so far (this is the fifth attempt). I am so glad it's done.**


	12. Chapter 8: Game

**Chapter 8: Game**

Aziraphale was busy reading; there was nothing interesting on TV; and it was raining. Hard. The sort of rain that soaked you to the bone the instant you stepped out into it. And the fridge was full. This meant that Crowley was Bored, with none of his usual activities to fall back on. Except for one.

On a similar sort of day, back in the bookshop, he'd invented a game. It didn't have a name (because there was no point. It wasn't the sort of game you _asked_ someone to play with you). There was a single objective: get Aziraphale to put the book down. Of course, the objective itself was easy – he'd once completed it accidentally by knocking over and smashing a glass with a careless arm movement. The fun came in _how_ he got the book to be closed; in the little, sneaky, pay-attention-to-me actions.

He was currently 40 minutes into this game – approaching Aziraphale's personal best. But he had a feeling that the particular book currently holding his angel's interest was his most formidable opponent yet. It was time for bolder moves.

* * *

Aziraphale had been playing along for the past 20 minutes. He'd noticed a pattern in his demon's behaviour during days like this quite early on, though he'd taken care to not let on. He was determined to beat his previous best, though he wasn't entirely sure what that was. He also wasn't completely sure how long this _particular_ game had been afoot. Clearly, it was quite a while as there was suddenly a head resting in his lap.

Even without looking down, he could _feel_ Crowley looking at him expectantly. Waiting for the desired response. But _two_ were playing the game, and if Crowley was going to up the stakes, then so would he. Aziraphale flicked his eyes down and smiled, "You okay, my dear?"

"Yep," Crowley answered with a smile back, exactly as Aziraphale expected. He'd had to try and work out the rules of this game for himself and so far understood that Crowley won when he put the book down, and figured that _that _meant _he_ won if Crowley had to do something overt.

* * *

Crowly was sure, when Aziraphale looked down at him, that he'd won. He was absolutely _positive_ when his angel shifted the book into one hand so his now freed hand could play with his brown hair. Crowley shifted his head instinctively at his angel's touch, eyes half closing with pleasure. But Aziraphale's eyes returned to the book and he carried on reading.

_Your move_, Aziraphale thought, feigning interest in his reading as he fought a smug smile, though he was actually rather preoccupied.

It was a while before Crowley realised that the book was still open, too distracted by the sensation of having his hair played with to notice at first. Once he had noticed, of course, he started thinking about his next move. Aziraphale had turned several pages before Crowley decided to up the stakes again.

Wriggling about for a few moments, he manoeuvred himself so that he was now sat in Aziraphale's lap and place his head on his angel's shoulder, as if trying to read the book also. "What're you reading?"

Aziraphale completely lost where he was in the book. But he tried to carry on as normal. "You wouldn't like it. It's historical fiction."

"Human history's strange enough without them making up more stuff," Crowley huffed and Aziraphale could feel his breath on his neck.

"They're quite good at making it sound realistic," he managed to reply, despite the fact that his mind was now almost completely focused on Crowley: his breath, his warmth, the weight in his lap… "Might even trick historians later down the line."

The damn book was still open and Aziraphale had stopped playing with his hair, and there was something just so _wrong_ about that. Crowley scowled at the book irritably. Aziraphale had long passed his personal best. But all Crowley needed to win was for the book to be closed.

Last resort it was.

"Ezra?" His angel turned to meet his eyes at the sound of his alias and Crowley took the opportunity to capture his lips in a kiss that he immediately responded to.

The book clattered to the floor as Aziraphale's hand moved to rest on his waist, pulling him closer. Crowley grinned for a moment, but this was no time to be celebrating his victory. He had something better to do.


End file.
